


touch me

by towokuwusatsuwu



Category: HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Touch-Starved, Touching, Trans Male Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 12:39:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15049262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: brown can hardly stand to touch himself, much less let someone else touch him freely. but he meets jesse, and he learns to love himself. he realizes just how much he misses the companionship of human touch.luckily, akune and miou are waiting with open arms (and open hearts).





	touch me

His parents were never supposed to know. The secret was never supposed to be let out of the bag; he knew them well enough even at thirteen to know he would end up on the street if they saw him frantically searching for ways to keep his body from betraying him, to keep puberty from happening, to keep his shape from changing. But thirteen is young, and he was never particularly bright to begin with, so looking back, Brown is not surprised at how fast they found out, how hard the concrete felt as it bit into his palms and knees.

The distance grew between them before the final incident, began when he used a switchblade to saw off the hair that spilled down his back in loose curls his mother would always wind around her fingers whenever he was close enough for her to touch. After that, she never touched him again. His father was never an affectionate man, having been raised with the old school understanding that mothers were supposed to love and nurture the children. It had been years since either of them had so much as touched him on the shoulder when he was forced out of the only home he had ever known.

Thirteen, in retrospect, is too young to lose that support. Prison is more of an inevitability than anything else, though Brown hardly regrets most of what he did to end up getting there. The testosterone in his body and three different interviews with a new therapist each time ensures he at least ends up where he belongs because ending up in a women’s prison might have broken what fragile confidence he manages to build up over the years. It takes time, and it takes effort, and pieces of him break off, honing him into a razor sharp point.

He meets Jesse in the middle of a fight, the two of them somehow ending up on the same side, back to back, and Brown always does his best work with another body to push off of. After they win, the two of them taking down over a dozen guys together, Jesse introduces himself properly and the two of them are attached at the hip from then on. It does him good to have someone to lean on in the darker moments, someone who shrugs out of his prison shirt one night to let Brown see the scars on his chest, the claim on the body he was dealt in life.

Others join them. Jesse makes the decisions and Brown rolls with them because he trusts Jesse’s judgment more than he trusts his own having let in far too many people who have only turned around to use his body, his past against him in different ways. Jesse enforces that no one look down on them with fists and blood, broken bones and testaments to how far he will go to make sure everyone respects him. Brown gets his hands on a proper blade and never goes anywhere without it, keeping it tucked beneath his pillow as he sleeps.

Akune and Miou are, in their own way, a revelation.

The two must have been brought in around the same time because Brown cannot remember a time when there was only one of them instead of two. They bring Jesse a pack of cigarettes and a unique fighting style, specializing in devastating punches and kicks, a style that rivals professional fighters who get good through money instead of time and spilled blood. Jesse welcomes them in and Brown, of course, has to introduce himself to them.

Keeping Rasen pinned down means working together, means becoming a flawless team whose members can fight in various configurations to suit any situation. It means becoming friends, forging bonds in a place where such a thing seems impossible.

Brown likes them. He likes  _ all _ of their gang, likes the camaraderie, likes the closeness even though he keeps his hands to himself, makes himself small, confines himself to corners. He surprises himself in little ways, just the same, fingers twitching to touch, to do more than slap hands or bump fists, desperate for— For anything, any kind of warmth, any physical touch. He wants it so bad he feels sick with the need.

There are men who are dragged in here already hung out to dry and Brown has watched them collapse, clawing their own skin off, desperate for whatever chemicals kept them going on the outside. Rasen has cracks wide enough for plenty to fall through, but drugs are harder to come by and most of the addicts end up in the infirmary. Brown gets his jumps from fighting, gets his rush from victory, and there are always men here who need to be put back in place.

It feels like that, in a way, that desperation crawling up his spine, the way his heart pounds every time he’s closer to one of the other members of their gang. He wants to say something, do something, sling an arm around them, grab one of their shoulders, anything to make himself feel a little less lost, a little more anchored to the world.

How long did he deny himself of something so simple? For so many years, the thought of looking at his own body, much less touching it, made him ill. It wasn’t until he met Jesse, a man who could teach him what it was like to be proud even if he hadn’t made the changes he wants to make, even if he’s not where he wants to be yet, that he was able to relax, to learn to cut himself some slack, even dare to love himself a little. It took  _ years _ to get to this point.

Years of not touching another human being unless he absolutely had to, never seeking out touch on his own until he’s almost forgotten what it feels like.

The lot of them are gathered together in Jesse’s cell one evening, chatting amongst themselves, Brown clicking his blade idly, running his thumb along the unsharpened edge. He and Akune have laid claim to the bed while Miou, Mocai, and Nakamon are gathered together on the floor— Jesse has stepped out to talk to someone. Brown isn’t paying attention like he should be, watching the lights glint on his blade, bright flashes almost blinding him.

Akune’s hand is close to his on the mattress, and he shouldn’t. No one in their gang has a problem with Brown as he is, and Jesse would have knocked their heads off a long time ago if they did, but still. There had been no conversations about the others. They accept Jesse and Brown for who they are, sure, but physical touch is a line to cross for so many people, one that can trigger a violent reaction. Brown’s seen it a thousand times.

But he’s  _ desperate,  _ and Akune has never hurt him before. Not one time.

Brown chances it. His hand moves quick, settling on top of Akune’s, his gaze fixed on his knife, unwilling to look up from its reflective surface. His heart pounds against his ribs hard enough that he think it might squeeze through the cracks between them— And then Akune turns his hand over, laces his fingers neatly with Brown’s, and squeezes.

The touch startles a choked sound out of him, but the others on the floor don’t hear. Nakamon is telling a story, and the others are intent on him. Akune leans close to him though; Brown can feel the other man’s stubble against his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt.

“You good?” He squeezes Brown’s hand again, and even that, so small, feels so incredible.

Brown nods hard, swallowing around the thickness in his throat. “Y-yeah, I’m good.”

Akune holds his hand until they have to go back to their respective cells, doesn’t try to shake Brown off, even rubs circles into his skin with his thumb. When they have to part for the night, he gives Brown’s hand a final squeeze and it knocks the breath out of Brown’s lungs all over again. He swears he can feel the phantom pressure even as he falls asleep. And if his dreams are just a little sweeter than usual, he doesn’t put the pieces together.

Miou and Akune share a cell. This occurs to him days later when Miou drops down next to him to eat one morning, then slings an arm around his shoulders and squeezes, fingers pressing into his skin. It jars Brown only in the best ways, and he glances up from his food. Miou doesn’t look up from his own, but his arm stays in place, a sublime comfort.

Across the table, Jesse cocks his head. His foot brushes Brown’s leg under the table, lips parting around silent words.  _ You good, bro? _

Brown nods furiously and Jesse smiles at him before going back to his food.

It takes a supreme amount of courage to work up to casual touching, and he always thinks too long and hard about it, at least for the first  _ year _ or so, and how bad is that? How fucked-up is it that it takes him weeks and months not to be afraid? Neither of them push him. He ends up between them one night, back against Akune’s chest, legs folded in Miou’s lap while Miou’s fingers tease his skin, slipping under the cuffs of his pants. It’s a comfortable position and when Mocai winks at him, Brown flips him off. Still, it feels good to be between them.

Akune’s chin drops down on his shoulder and he wraps an arm around Brown’s waist, thumb stroking over his hip. “This good for you, man?”

“Too good,” Brown admits, and Miou smiles at him, squeezes his calf. “You don’t gotta do this for me, y’know? But I appreciate it just the same.”

Miou scoffs at him, fingers dragging down to his ankle once more. “We don’t gotta? You see yourself when you’re with us like this? ‘Cause it sure seems like you need this.”

There’s no argument to be made against that, because he does need it. “Still. You don’t gotta if you don’t want to. Be wrong of me to guilt you into doing anything for me.”

“Guilt? You don’t see shit right in front of your face, do you?” Akune nuzzles into the side of his neck and Brown melts back against him, fingers grasping the arm still around his waist, the muscles there. “You think we’d be doing this if we didn’t want to? Hell, boy, just ‘cause you grabbed my hand first doesn’t mean I didn’t want to grab yours at all.”

Nakamon clears his throat from where he’s sat on the bunk across from them. “You want us to give you three some privacy? Sure is looking like it.”

“We’re good,” Miou says, waving a hand at them. “Just giving our boy some TLC ‘cause he needs it. Think we can bully the guards into letting him share our cell tonight?”

Nakamon looks considerate, head rolling from one side to the other, letting out an exaggerated  _ hmm _ noise before he pushes himself to his feet. “Damn good question. I’ll go get an answer for you. Nothing in exchange needed if we’re doing this for our own.”

Squeezing three people onto a prison cot is not impossible, even if it does take some advanced maneuvering techniques to pull it off. Brown ends up on top of them both, half on Akune and half on Miou, their arms around him, keeping him firmly anchored in place. He sleeps through the entire night, the dual lullaby of their smooth, even breathing knocking him out in mere minutes instead of hours of twisting and turning, desperate for any rest.

Jesse only teases him until Pho joins their gang. At that point, he can’t tease Brown anymore.

By this point, Brown touches everyone in their gang pretty freely. It isn’t unusual for him to throw his arm around someone, letting them carry his entire weight just to see if they will, how long they might put up with it. Pho is the strongest out of all of them, able to hold Brown’s weight without a problem, and Jesse complains but lets it be. Akune and Miou still handle it best, letting Brown switch between them, their arms slung around his own neck companionably, or lower. More than once, Akune’s hand has landed on top of his ass.

If he minded, he’d slap Akune’s hand away and he knows it would never happen again.

He ends up with them in their cell one night, his head in Miou’s lap, those knowing fingers combing through his hair, loose from its normal pompadour and soft around his face. He feels sleepy, his mind heavy, his muscles relaxed against the thin cot. Akune sits on the floor with his back against the edge of the bed, close enough to touch. Brown curls a hand around the back of his neck because he can, thumbing over the skin there, smiling when Akune leans back into his hand, turns his head to look at him, favor him with a warm smile.

“You’re so fucking cute.” Miou taps him on the cheek and Brown looks up at him too, half-twisting around so he can return the gentle touch. “We were trying to be subtle about it but fuck it. Pretty boy, you wanna join us? Formally, officially, whatever the word is?”

Brown blinks up at him a few times, trying to put the pieces together so he can understand the exact meaning. It clicks into place. “You asking me to be your boyfriend, or?”

“We got a pretty decent thing going, think you know.” Akune looks past him to Miou and Brown hums an answer, because he’s seen the way they look at each other and he’s always happy for them, happy that something good can come from a place like this.

“You’re important to us, though.” Miou cradles the side of Brown’s face in his hand, his skin so warm, palm rough from work, from fighting. “Wanna keep you around for a long time, if you wanna stay that is. Not gonna ask you to do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“That’s nostalgic,” Akune quips.

Brown needs to sit up so he can process this quickly, because as lovely as it is to be between them, warm and safe, their hands on him, skin to skin, this is a serious question and it bears thinking about. It would be better to return to his own cell for the rest of the night, mull it over until he falls asleep and can’t think anymore, but he doesn’t want to tear himself away from the two of them. He likes being around them, their company, the easy way they touch him, hands skimming over his body with more care than he’s ever been able to give himself.

The fact of the matter is, there’s never been a man in his life Brown thought of as more than just an occasional fuck, a one night stand to scratch an itch, because no one ever treated him right. Part of this is his fault, of course, for hunting out people who knew just how to hurt him in the worst way possible, his taste in men worse than anything in the world. There were too many men willing to touch him when he was warm and pliant but who turned him away the moment they were done with him, and whether he’d enjoyed the night or not meant nothing to them.

To have anyone in his life treat him like a proper person is no longer a shiny new concept to him, because he’s had this gang for years now. But it’s a novelty just the same and he treasures them and the way they treat him and talk to him, the way they look at him. Like he’s enough, like he’s not wanting for anything. But this, Akune and Miou want? Is even more than that.

He’s wanted a man to love him fiercely ever since he first started noticing men, when puberty damn near ruined his life but left him with eyes widen open to experiences he never knew he wanted before. That’s normal to want love, a relationship, some kind of happy ending in a world designed not to provide them for people like him. To have one thrown at him like this, and by two people who treat him with a gentleness he never expected, never thought he would get to know so well, is so sudden and startling he doesn’t know how to properly respond.

“You don’t gotta answer right away,” Akune tells him.

“Nah, no, I know that, I just.” Brown runs a hand through his hair, spits out a little laugh and then flops back over on top of Miou, pressing his cheek against Miou’s stomach through his shirt, feeling the toned muscle there. “It’s a lot, but I want it. I want it so much.”

“A lot,” Miou says softly, tracing the edge of Brown’s lips with his fingers. “Too much?”

Brown shakes his head and, for the first time, tilts his head, presses a kiss to Miou’s fingers. “No. Just a lot. Just  _ enough. _ ”

Akune bounds up onto the cot with them, and it’s crowded like this, but Brown doesn’t mind being jostled, or the way Akune hovers above him, a hand pressed into the mattress beside his head. “Is that a yes? ‘Cause if it is, I wanna kiss you. I’ve been  _ dying _ to, actually.”

Brown answers him by pulling him down, and the kiss is a little rough, a little messy, and his stubble scrapes against Brown’s skin just a little, a texture he’ll have to get used to. Akune’s  _ excited _ for it, and when Miou kisses him and it’s softer and smoother, more practiced, Brown gets the impression he’s also excited, in his own different way.

He doesn’t have to commit the kisses to memory, the contact, the feel of their mouths against his. They don’t stop kissing him after that. They probably never will.


End file.
